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The Admiral viewed his son critically. The walk home, followed by a sousing of the face in cold water, had helped to attenuate the lingering fumes in the young man's brains, and on the whole his mind was about as steady as could be expected in one who was always more or less under the influence of drink. "So do I, sir," said Sir William. "Is it?".
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"No, sir, I must be content to stop on deck. It is about twenty years ago since I was on the sea. I crossed from Dover to Calais. We were two days terribly tossed about, and almost lost upon some sands. I lay dreadfully ill all the time, and on our arrival at Calais, when I had strength to speak, I said to papa: 'We must return by the sea, it is true, to get home, but once I am at home, I will never more put my foot into a ship.'" Billy shook his head. "No good, she'd be onto us bigger'n a barn. Tell you what we might do. We might take bad colds an' sorta work on her sympathies." Half an hour later he came out upon the lake shore. Quickly he scraped together a pile of drift wood. He applied a match to it and as fire leaped up stood frowning across the water. Then, as an answering light flashed from some distance out in the lake, he sighed in relief and seating himself on the sand lit his pipe. After a time the sound of oars fell on his ears. A boat scraped on the beach. Two men stepped from it and approached the fire. Billy sighed his relief. "Gee, but it's lucky you did," he cried. "That's the very thing Trigger Finger Tim would'a done, ain't it, Maurice?".
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